


Cold Outside (but here you are)

by FantasySwap



Series: Cold Outside [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bucky is 17, Explit Sexual Content, First Meetings, First Time, Homeless Shelters, Homelessness, M/M, Past Child Abuse/Child Neglect, Steve is 25
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-12 02:00:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15329214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasySwap/pseuds/FantasySwap
Summary: The kid is shivering when he finally comes inside, lips turning blue and teeth chattering as Natasha and Clint haul him through the door. His lip is split and a steady stream of blood gushing from his nose; he looks up, eyes wide and panicked when the door slams shut behind them and yep, ouch, that’s a nasty looking bruise around his eye.———Steve runs a homeless shelter. Bucky just needs some help.





	1. Chapter 1

The kid is shivering when he finally comes inside, lips turning blue and teeth chattering as Natasha and Clint haul him through the door. His lip is split and a steady stream of blood is gushing from his nose; he looks up, eyes wide and panicked when the door slams shut behind them and yep, _ouch_ , that’s a nasty looking bruise around his eye.

Steve both loves and hates nights like this— they remind him of why he set this shelter up in the first place, of the good he is doing in the world, and they also remind him why these things are necessary. The kid can’t be more than seventeen at most, and even that is pushing it: his hair is greasy and mussed, his clothes are baggy and torn, and he looks far thinner than a boy his age should look. 

“C’mon, kid.” Clint is saying, a hand pushing up underneath the boy’s arm as he and Natasha manhandle the boy into the common area, sitting him down at the table. Other than a few muffled protests, the kid doesn’t put up much of a fight. Steve doesn’t think he’s even capable of it: he looks too frail, like a light slap might knock him over.

It isn’t much, what they’ve got here, but Steve is proud of it and he loves it. The shelter had been Natasha’s idea truthfully and she’s been here every step of the way, helping out and putting in the hours even if it was Steve that appealed to the council. He loves helping people, loves knowing that, for those who have nowhere else to go, they can offer a soft bed and a warm meal. Tony and Pepper donate every month and if it weren’t for their money the shelter might have shut down long ago. Clint, barely an adult himself, had wanted to help out at the shelter as soon as he had secured a job. He never said it out loud, but it was an unspoken truth that he wanted to give back, having stayed at the shelter as a teenager more than he stayed with his parents.

Steve is just coming out of the kitchen when they come in, carrying the kid between them. He has a mug of hot chocolate in each hand but at the sight of a bloodied, beat up teenager he is already catching Nat’s eye and nodding at the wordless communication between them.

”Really!” The kid argues, arms flailing wildly as he tries to get up. Natasha places a firm hand on his shoulder, commanding but not intimidating, and he sinks back down into the chair. “It’s not as bad as it looks, seriously! I’m fine, I don’t need to be here.”

Clint brushes past Steve and heads for the staff bathroom where they keep all the medical supplies, having done this enough times to have memorised the procedure. Steve feels a tiny flicker of pride - he can remember when Clint was a kid, scared and defensive and alone - at the man he has grown into. Even though he is only about five years older than Clint he still feels a sort of paternal responsibility for him.

”That’s a real shame, kid.” Steve shrugs, sliding into the seat opposite him and pushing a steaming mug of hot chocolate towards him. “Cause I just made two of these and I’m gonna get fat if I have to drink both of them myself.”

 The kid raises an eyebrow, looking decidedly unimpressed - honestly, Natasha is looking pretty unimpressed at his tactic as well - but Steve watches as he inhales and he’s eyeing the drink hungrily. Eventually the overpowering smell of sugar and chocolate must get the better of him because he relents, drawing the mug towards him quickly as though he’s worried it might get snatched away from him at the last moment. Steve’s heart aches for him.

”So, my name’s Steve.” Steve tells him, knowing that the quickest way to get people to open up to you is if you open up to them first. “This is Natasha. This is my buddy Clint, he’s gonna clean you up a bit, if that’s okay?”

Clint has emerged from the bathroom carrying disinfecting spray, plasters and cotton wool. Steve doesn’t miss the kid’s since at the sight of the supplies but he nods anyway, wrapping his hands around the mug and blowing on it softly. Steve lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding: a lot of the people they deal with, kids especially, refuse medical help if they think it’s going to cost them afterwards.

”So what’s your name?” Steve asks, voice casual and unassuming as he hands Nat the other mug of hot chocolate. She accepts it gratefully and drinks it immediately, not even wincing as it scalds the roof of her mouth. It’s late, almost midnight, so most of the other people staying in the shelter tonight are already asleep in one of the beds provided for them.

There’s slight hesitation in the kid’s eyes before he must decide to tell them, and Steve tries to ignore the knot in his stomach that tightens at the sight of it. It’s normal in this job to meet people who are reluctant to trust anybody’s with this piece of information. As small as it might seem to some people, when you’ve experienced some sort of trauma like most of these people have then that small piece of information becomes only of the only things you can control.

”Bucky.” The kid decides upon finally, wincing when Clint dabs a ball of cotton wool against a cut on his cheek. Clint murmurs an apology that the kid - Bucky - doesn’t acknowledge. Steve knows better than to question the legitimacy of the name, so he nods sagely and smiles.

”Bucky.” He says gently. “Would you like us to call anyone?”

He has to ask, makes a point to ask everyone when they first visit the shelter; it’s a rule he and Nat agreed on. Most people turn them down, saying that they don’t have anyone they could call, but occasionally someone reunited with a friend or family member. It’s just another way of helping out, of doing something good for the world. Steve half hopes Bucky does ask them to call someone, and he half hopes he doesn’t.

Really, it’s incredibly unprofessional, not to mention immoral. Bucky has a pretty face, even bruised and bleeding, and for Steve to be hoping he decides to stay the night just because the kid is attractive is _so_ wrong. Even so, he can’t deny the little flare of relief when Bucky shakes his head emphatically.

”No. Don’t call anyone.” He says firmly and then, almost like an afterthought, tags on, “thank you.”

Clint snorts and smooths a plaster down over a particularly nasty looking cut on Bucky’s forehead before handing the kid an ice pack to hold against his eye. He murmurs a thank you and shifts imperceptibly away from Clint as he packs up the medical kit.

”So you’re staying the night?” Steve double checks, even though he already knows the answer is yes. They would never forcibly keep someone here - even if it was for their own good - but Steve knows Natasha would use every tactic she has to keep the kid here now.

“I wasn’t planning on.” Bucky says flatly, an underlying hint of amusement in his words that makes the corners of Steve’s mouth twitch upwards.

“We don’t have any beds free.” Clint says sounding disinterested, but Steve can tell after a couple of years of working together that that is how Clint sounds when he’s feeling tense.

“Oh, there you go then! I’ll just leave!” Bucky cries, smiling brightly with the ice pack still pressed firmly to his eye. It’s odd how, even with half of his face covered, his smile still manages to melt Steve’s insides. That’s never happened before, Steve thinks absentmindedly. Something about the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes though - or, the one that Steve is able to see at least - and he wonders why Bucky is so determined to make it look like he wants to leave when clearly he’d rather stay. It makes his gut twist unpleasantly.

”You can have my bed.” Natasha replies with a sense of finality, and Bucky’s shoulders fall. “I’m on night duty anyway. Just don’t pee in the bed or anything. How old are you again— you don’t need a towel down, right?”

Bucky laughs, surprising both himself and Steve. It’s a beautiful sound: a mixture between a giggle and a wheezing noise that Steve instantly adores. He wants to hear more of it, wants to be the one to cause it. Being irrationally jealous of Natasha is not going to help with anything but he can’t help the surge of envy that rushes through him at that one sound.

”I’m seventeen.” He responds, arching an eyebrow. “You know, you could have just asked me instead of insulting me in the process. I would have told you.”

Natasha’s lips purse but she looks amused; Clint barks out a laugh and swipes a finger through the cream on top of Natasha’s hot chocolate, licking it clean as Nat wrinkles her nose at him in disgust.

”He’s got you all figured out, huh?” Clint mocks gleefully.

”You know I hate that.” Natasha says haughtily, crossing her arms. “And yes, before you say anything, I do know that’s why you keep doing it. Your comment is unnecessary. Now get out of here, go to sleep.”

Steve grins and stands up, beckoning for Bucky to follow him. This kid wraps one hand around the handle of his mug and the other keeps a tight grip around the ice pack, like he thinks someone isn’t going to try and steal it from him. He says a half hearted goodnight to Natasha and Clint, and follows Steve down the corridor.

”Natasha’s is pretty small but it’s got a bathroom if you want to shower. Her bed is comfy as well— but if you drool on her pillow she’ll probably fight you with it.” Steve winces. Of all the times to be reduced to a rambling mess and joke about fighting, it’s when he’s leading a very attractive homeless teenager - who has probably just been beaten up - into his best friend’s bedroom.

Bucky doesn’t comment on any of that, although Steve can tell the kid is watching him with an incredibly cute confused frown on his face— granted, Steve can only tell that because he’s watching Bucky out of the corner of his eye, but if the kid can tell he doesn’t say anything about it and Steve is grateful.

”So, what’s night watch? Makes this place sound like a prison or something.” Bucky asks, looking around curiously as they pass individual rooms. There are three beds in each room - it’s far too tight a fit but until the council gives them more funding for expansion it’s the best they can do to fit as many people in as possible - and each door has a large window in it so that either Steve, Natasha or Clint can see if there’s any trouble.

”Oh!” Steve smiles, latching into the subject. He’s stupidly relieved that Bucky has decided to make conversation, especially when that topic won’t make him look like a bumbling idiot. “That’s just Nat’s joke. Somebody has to stay awake all night so that she can deal with anybody that comes in, or if people try to steal anything she can catch them. We take turns.”

Bucky nods, choosing not to ask any more questions much to Steve’s disappointment. They’ve reached the staff bedrooms anyway, and it would look odd if Steve tried to drag the conversation out any longer.

The staff bedrooms aren’t actually all that different to the other bedrooms, save for the fact that they only have one bed and they have a bathroom. If anything they’re smaller, but they’re more private and it looks like Bucky could do with a hot shower and a nice, long, uninterrupted sleep.

Not that Steve is thinking about Bucky in the shower. Or in bed, for that matter. Or at all, except in an entirely professional capacity, because Steve is a _professional_.

”If you want us to wash your clothes we can lend you some pyjamas— yours will be dry by the morning.” Steve offers, just for something to say. He wants to ask so many more questions: who hurt you? Why don’t you have anywhere else to stay? What’s your favourite food, and would it be weird if I cooked it for you right now? But he’s only just met the kid; it’s late, and the last thing Bucky needs is a stranger prying into his personal history.

”That’s alright thanks.” Bucky is eyeing the shower with interest so Steve decides it’s time to leave him to it, as much as he’d like too stay and get to know the kid better.

“If you need anything I’m just next door, okay?” He waits until Bucky acknowledges that with a nod before smiling. “Sleep well, Bucky.”

“You too.” The kid replies distractedly. Just as he’s about to close the door behind him, his hand still resting on the door handle, he hears Bucky say quietly, “Steve. Thank you.”

***

Steve always wakes early; he can’t explain why but it’s been something that just seems to happen ever since he was a child. It made his mother’s life so much easier when she didn’t have to spend half an hour trying to get him out of bed in the morning, like the parents of all of Steve’s friends seemed to have to do. When he rolls over in his bed, feeling refreshed and ready to face the new day and sees that it’s just past six in the morning, he’s not at all surprised.

Its useful for work as well, if Steve wakes early. This way he’s able to make breakfast, hang out last night’s washing to dry and tidy the common area before any of the guests even start waking up. Clint calls it weird but Steve thinks it’s an advantage to this line of work. He brushes his teeth quickly and pulls on a pair of jogging bottoms answering a hoodie, ambling down the corridor quietly so as not to wake anyone up.

Natasha is sitting at the dining table, exactly where Steve left her last night, with a empty mug of what was probably coffee in front of her. She looks alert but there are dark circles under her eyes and she looks unspeakably relieved to see Steve awake, knowing that now she will be able to sleep.

”Morning.” Steve says chirpily, because he knows it pisses her off. “No stragglers last night then?”

“Nope.” She grumbles, standing up and stretching. The bones in her back all crack satisfyingly and she sighs, letting her arms drop to her side. “Good luck with breakfast. Save me some lunch, yeah? I’m gonna go get some sleep.”

“Of course.” Steve nods. “If Bucky’s still sleeping you can have my bed.”

”Oh.” Natasha says, sounding as though she’s suddenly remembered something. Steve’s heart rate spikes. “Bucky left. A couple of hours ago. Said to tell you thanks.”

Disappointment settles heavily in Steve’s stomach, confusion creating a cloud in front of his eyes. He frowns, cocking his headband at Natasha so hoping she won’t be able to keep read his expression too accurately. He’s sure she’d be entirely too gleeful or entirely too disapproving if she knew the real reason behind Steve’s disappointment.

”Why?” He settles on asking, knowing that if anyone could have gotten an answer out of Bucky then it would be Nat. Much to his dismay, she shrugs and just pats him on the shoulders as she passes by.

”Beats me. But he returned the ice pack so he’s not on my shit list.” She snorts tiredly as she disappears through the door and heads towards her bedroom. She’ll be out within minutes, despite the faint sounds of the first people waking up and moving around.

Steve busies himself with making pancakes and setting out cereal boxes on the dining table, and he absolutely doesn’t let his mind wander to Bucky.

***

Steve doesn’t see Bucky again for almost a week, and by the following Saturday he has almost forgotten about him. He plays Xbox games with a Sokovian girl called Wanda who stays in the shelter almost permanently (and loses pathetically) and he makes dinner for fifteen or so people (Nat throws tomatoes at him until he relents and calls for take out) and by the time Bucky shows up again he hasn’t slipped, momentarily, from Steve’s mind.

Its late again but not as late as last time; it’s just past ten when Bucky sneaks in and there are a few other people mingling in the common room. Wanda and Sam are playing a violent game of table football and Peter Q is losing spectacularly at Mario Kart against Peter P when Natasha sidles up to him. She judges him subtly and inclines her head in Bucky’s direction. The kid is standing huddled against the wall nearest the exit, arms wrapped around himself. He looks nervous.

”Looks like you made an impression after all.” She murmurs knowingly before moving away silently, taking a seat opposite Sharon and pulling out a pack of cards.

Steve swallows hard. He has no idea how long Bucky has been there but he looks like he’s seconds away from bolting. Steve is moving before he can remind himself why it might be a bad idea, trying not to feel like a creep as he leans back against the wall next to Bucky wordlessly. Bucky doesn’t look at him but he tenses slightly, the only indication that he knows Steve is there.

”You need anything?” Steve asks passively, trying to keep any and all judgement out of his voice. There is so much he wants to offer Bucky - safety, security, kindness, a _home_ \- but the only things he _can_ offer the kid are a bed, a meal and a shower. They seem hopelessly inadequate.

”Could do with some water.” Bucky says, a muscle in his jaw ticking. It isn’t phrased as a question, but Steve inhales sharply when he realises that Bucky is expecting him to say no. He glances at Natasha once to check that she said absorbed in what she’s doing and then pushes away from the wall.

”Kitchen’s this way.” He comments, pausing to make sure Bucky is going to follow him before weaving through the crowd towards the staff kitchen. He could take Bucky to the communal kitchen but the kid seems nervous enough just being around the others in the common room. The kitchen will be just as busy at this time, most people wanting a snack before they go to sleep.

The staff kitchen is smaller, just a microwave in one corner, a sink and a rectangular table pushed up against the back wall. Steve grabs a plastic cup out of the cupboard and fills it up with water, holding it to Bucky. He’s already sitting at the table; Steve sits down opposite him, a safe, reassuring distance.

”You staying tonight, Bucky?” Steve asks, keeping his tone soft and conversational. If Bucky does need a place to stay the last thing Steve wants to do I should act too intense and scare the kid off. He relaxes his face into a friendly, open expression so that Bucky won’t feel awkward or uncomfortable.

”If I can?” Bucky replies when he’s finished the glass - one long gulp: wherever he’s been, he can’t have had much to drink - and sets the empty container on the table. The prospect of Bucky not having basic things like food or water twists Steve’s stomach in an unpleasant way.

”Of course. You will have to share a room though.” Steve tells him, wondering why he wishes he could invite Bucky into his room. It’s not like he’d have any excuse for it, and Clint is on night watch tonight so he wouldn’t have anywhere to sleep if he did. Still, it’s a tempting idea.

Of course, Bucky doesn’t object. He’s self aware enough, Steve knows, to be grateful for what he can get.

”That’s not a problem. As long as nobody tries to kill me in my sleep, at least.” Bucky laughs nervously, eyeing Steve in an uncertain way that make sure him wonder how well he’s pulling off the ‘casual, unaffected’ facial expression. Not very well, clearly.

”So, you’re gonna stay the whole night this time?” He asks, smile feeling stiff and frozen on his face. Bucky swallows— Steve does _not_ subconsciously lick his lips at the sight of the kid’s Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Bucky’s neck is long and pale and unmarked, and one hundred percent _off limits._

“Steve…” Bucky starts cautiously. Straight away Steve feels like an asshole for making the kid feel obliged to stay. Bucky is free to come and go as he pleases— that’s the whole fucking point of the shelter in the first place. Even so, Steve finds himself unable to take the words back, or tell Bucky any of this.

”I’m sorry about last time.” Bucky says eventually, with more certainty this time. “I should have stayed and thanked you properly. I’m sorry I didn't.”

“It’s okay.” Steve tells him sincerely, wishing he could believe his own words. It _is_ okay, whatever misguided emotion Steve is feeling because of it. “You can come - and leave - whenever you want. That’s kind of how this place works.”

Bucky’s only reply is a hum, noncommittal, and Steve has no idea what it means. Should he continue talking or has he done enough as it is?

”Do you need help?” Steve blurts out, eyes widening as soon as the words leave his mouth.

Could he be any more idiotic? He’s always told himself not to pry - rewarded himself for the fact that he’s not able to reign in the urge to save everybody that stays in the shelter - and yet he’s just crossed that line with a kid he’s talked to _twice_.

He fully expects Bucky to get angry with him, maybe to push away from the table and leave. For good this time. He isn’t prepared for the kid to choke on the water he’s drinking and burst out laughing. Steve blinks at him in surprise, half confused and half aroused by the sight of Bucky’s cheeks flushing and his eyes crinkling. He’s beautiful when he smiles - no inhibitions or threats holding him back - and his lips are drawn into the prettiest grin Steve has ever seen.

”Sorry, sorry!” Bucky apologises, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing and doesn’t _that_ make an interesting sight. “I know you’re serious; I’m not laughing at you. Just… your face.”

Bucky rubs his hand across his nose, eyes shining, and brushes a few loose strands of hair away from his face. Steve thinks his face might be burning red and he hopes that isn’t what Bucky finds so amusing. He knows he’s terrible at hiding things and if the kid finds out about Steve’s unorthodox attraction towards him then he’ll feel too uncomfortable to come back here. This place may not have come with official rules, but Steve knows that an important part of running a homeless shelter is not to freak the people out so badly that they never come back. Natasha would kill him.

”My face?” Steve raises an eyebrow, amused despite his earlier panic. “Is there something wrong with it?”

”There’s nothing wrong with it.” Bucky replies instantly, and then flushes just as quickly. Steve coughs, feels his own face heat up and hope he isn't beaming as widely as he wants to. Bucky had sounded wistful when he spoke, and the meaning of that doesn’t escape Steve. Still, it doesn’t change anything. Bucky is a teenager, and Steve is twenty-five.

”That’s kind of an existential question anyway, isn’t it?” Bucky brushes off the comment and rests his chin in his hand, gazing at Steve. “Do I need help? Doesn’t everybody need help?”

”I meant it more in a literal sense, less of an… everybody is doomed anyway, sort of thing.” Steve snorts, and then grows serious. “Sorry though. I shouldn’t have asked: it’s none of my business.”

Bucky shakes his head, smile softening. “No, it’s okay. It’s… nice, I guess. Shows you care. You’re a good person, Steve.”

”What makes you say that?” And yes, Steve may be fishing for compliments but when it’s Bucky dishing the compliments out who could really blame him? Whether or not he agrees with the kid, hearing Bucky list all the ways in which he thinks Steve is a good person sounds like the best possible use of his time right now.

”You run this place, don’t you?” Bucky replies, in a tone of voice that suggests it’s obvious.

“Yes…” Steve hedges. “Along with Natasha and Clint.”

“Yeah but you _run_ this place. It’s… as much as they work here as well, it’s _yours_. I can tell. You really care about this place and the people here. Sometimes you can just tell when you look into somebody’s eyes that they’re _good_ , don’t you think? And you… Steve, you’re _good_. I mean it.”

Steve is sure he’s glowing; he’s embarrassed from all the praise, yes, but there’s something about the way Bucky delivers it - so sincere and honest and genuine, wide eyes begging you to believe him - that sets something inside Steve alight. He wishes he knew more about Bucky so he could list all the ways in which he is a good person in return, because he’s absolutely certain this kid is a good person.

Bucky, on the other hand, looks like he’s only just realised everything he said. He opens and shuts his mouth a few times before letting his eyes drop to the tabletop; his index finger draws circles in the condensation on his glass. Steve watches for a few seconds, mesmerised, before blinking back into reality.

“Thank you, Bucky,” He says, hesitating before resting a gentle hand on top of Bucky’s. “That means a lot to me.”

Bucky tenses at first and Steve wonders whether or not he just pull his hand back and try to pretend nothing ever happened, when suddenly the kid shoots Steve a tiny grin. It’s shy, nervous and adorable all at once; Bucky turns his hand underneath Steve’s so their palms are touching and Steve swears he feels electricity. Bucky’s skin is soft and warm, and Steve can’t help rubbing his thumb in small circles over it. The silence is so loud, so filled, that for a second Steve thinks they both forget about the shelter, about the world, around them.

”Fucking Quill, I swear to God!” Clint grumbles good-naturedly, bustling in loudly and startling both of them out of the bubble that had formed around them. “One day I’m gonna beat him, man, I am! He’s— _oh_! Oh, sorry, was I… interrupting something?”

Steve stands up so quickly he gets a head-rush. Clint’s eyes are darting between Bucky’s and Steve suspiciously, a slow smirk spreading over his face. Steve has seen that smirk far too many times, and he knows from experience that it’s never a good sign.

“Nope. Sorry. I was just getting Bucky a drink.” Steve has no idea why he’s apologising, and he thinks he’s probably making everything ten times worse for himself what with the way Clint’s smirk is turning into a wolfish grin. Clint grabs an apple from the cupboard and nods at Bucky.

“Hey Bucky.” Clint greets. “Good to see you again, kid.”

“Hey Clint.” Bucky responds quietly. Steve looks over his shoulder to see the kid staring daggers at the tabletop like it holds the answers to all of life’s questions, and he quickly decides it’s time to get out of there.

“Anyway, Bucky, did you want to get to a bed now or did you want to hang out in the common area for a bit?” Steve asks, ignoring the way Clint is leaning against the counter, head tilted back thoughtfully.

“Um, I’ll just go to bed now, if that’s okay?” Bucky replies, still sounding uncomfortable. Steve is most definitely not thinking about Bucky in bed, wondering if he sleeps in all his clothes or just his underwear. Or, perhaps, nothing at all. Definitely not thinking about Bucky naked, with his pale skin and dark hair and big eyes.

“Of course. I’ll just, uh, follow me?” Clint snorts. Steve treads on his foot as he walks past and holds the door open for Bucky to leave. He thinks he hears Clint’s distant cackle as he walks away, but it could just be the Wicked Witch of the West. Steve is sure they sound identical; most of the time he’s sure they’re the same person.

Steve leads Bucky down the corridor to one of their bedrooms, and if he takes the kid to a room with only one other person staying in it then nobody needs to know. Bucky shifts uncertainly in the doorway, like he doesn’t know whether Steve is going to follow him in or not. Steve wonders whether the kid wants him to follow him in, and then decides that train of thought is best analysed in private.

“Thanks, I guess?” Bucky rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, looking around before sitting heavily on the nearest empty bed. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Definitely.” Steve nods enthusiastically, and sue him if he sounds a little too eager. “If you need to use the bathroom or have a shower there are three along this corridor. If you want us to wash your clothes—”

“You can lend me some spares.” Bucky finishes for him, looking sheepish. “You told me last time. Thank you but that’s fine.”

Any irrational hope of seeing Bucky drowning in Steve’s considerably larger clothes vanishes. It’s probably for the best, because Steve isn’t sure he’d be able to let the kid go if he saw him with sweater paws and sweat pants completely covering his feet; the thought alone has him cooing in his head.

“Right, okay then. You’re sharing a room with Wanda, by the way. She’s lovely so don’t worry about her trying to kill you or anything. Even though you were probably joking. I’ll, um, see you in the morning then. I’ll save you some breakfast.” God, when did Steve turn into such a bumbling idiot? He used to at least have _game_.

“Night.” Steve finishes lamely, and runs away before he gives himself another opportunity to embarrass himself.

Clint is waiting for him in the common area when he gets back, and he smirks when he sees Steve.

“Does somebody have a _crush_?” He says in a sing-song voice.

“Shut up.” Steve replies sourly and crosses his arms over his chest.

 ***

Steve wakes early, pats Clint on the back as the man shuffles, zombie like, across the room to get to his bedroom, and walks into the kitchen with a spring in his step. He’s feeling refreshed and invigorated, ready to set out breakfast for the wonderful group of people he and Clint and Natasha are helping today.

He isn’t ready to see Bucky already sitting at the kitchen counter, sipping a mug of steaming coffee and looking like one of Steve’s more explicit wet dreams. His hair is wet and clinging to his forehead, his skin is flushed a pretty pink colour and he’s wearing a thin white t-shirt with boxers.

His lips are dark red from where he’s been chewing them and his feet are bare. Steve never realised he could find bare feet adorable but, he supposes, he’s figuring out all sorts of things about himself now.

“Hey!” He says chirpily, heading straight to the coffee machine to make a cup for himself. He may feel refreshed but his routine involves coffee every morning and if he doesn’t complete his routine he’ll feel unmoored all day.

Bucky jumps, shoulders hunching, and twists around in his seat. Steve tries his best not to ogle the kid’s exposed thighs - because, he reminds himself, eight years might not seem like too big a gap to adults but being seventeen makes Bucky a kid - but he’s sure he does a terrible job of it. If Bucky notices he doesn’t say anything— in fact, he seems to be doing a fair bit of ogling himself. Steve preens.

“You— hi.” Bucky stutters, tearing his gaze away from Steve’s bicep. Steve knows he looks physically impressive, he takes care of himself and his body, but knowing that his hard work has paid off and seems to be attracting Bucky does something sappy to the butterflies in his stomach.

“You’re up early.” Steve comments, heading over to the fridge as he waits for his coffee to finish brewing. He’s thinking pancakes this morning: they seemed to be a hit with everybody last time he made them.

“Could say the same about you.” Bucky counters, pushing a hand through his wet hair. Steve gazes, enraptured, as a water droplet rolls down Bucky’s neck and disappears below the collar of his t-shirt. “If I’d known you were gonna be up so soon I would have dressed better. Or… dressed at all, I guess. Sorry.”

Steve shrugs neutrally, careful not to completely humiliate himself and say something like, ‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t’.

“Don’t worry about it.” He settles on eventually. “You take us up on the clothes-washing idea after all?”

“I found your machine.” Bucky nibbles on his lower lip like he’s expecting to be reprimanded for taking liberties. “I thought— it doesn’t have long left to go, and I thought it would be finished before anyone got up. Sorry.”

“Again with the apologies!” Steve laughs gently, not wanting the kid to think he’s being mocked. “You don’t have to apologise. It’s what I’m here for. I mean, the shelter. It’s what we’re here for.”

Steve catches Bucky’s gaze, eyes locking and unable to look away. Bucky has such long eyelashes, such soft looking skin. The moment stretches on, soft and golden and just for them.

The sound of life carries on out the window but for all Steve cares it could just be he and Bucky left in the world. He wants desperately to make the two strides it would take to reach Bucky, to stroke his thumb along Bucky’s jaw and tilt his chin up delicately. He wants to lick inside Bucky’s mouth and taste him and hear the little sighs he lets escape when he’s enjoying himself. He wants.

“Can I help?” Bucky asks suddenly, startling him out of his fantasy. Steve freezes, thinking for sure that he’s been caught out, but then he sees Bucky gesture at the frying pan he must have picked up at some point and realises. Bucky wants to help him make pancakes. Bucky wants to cook with him. It sounds horribly, beautifully domestic.

“That depends.” Steve teases. “You any good at flipping pancakes?”

Later that day, when Bucky tells Steve he has to leave, something yearns in Steve to reach out and gather the kid into his arms. He wants to tell him to stay, to keep him fed and warm and safe, not to let him go out into a world that has already been too cruel to him.

“Will you be back?” Steve asks, feeling entirely too vulnerable. Bucky takes a tiny step closer to him, almost imperceptible if you aren’t watching closely, and looks up at him from under his eyelashes. It’s sweet and innocent and erotic all at the same time, and Steve doesn’t want to let him go.

“I hope so.” Bucky replies, and Steve thinks that whilst it isn’t the best answer he could hope for, it’s the best answer he could ask for. He hopes so too.

***

Steve hates being on night watch. Contrary to Clint who enjoy watching the sun set and rise, Steve finds that it knocks off his whole sleep schedule. He has to sleep for half of the day, which leaves him tired and irritable throughout the whole of the next day until he can collapse into bed again. He can’t wake up feeling refreshed and ready to face the new day, so he much prefers being able to sleep through the night and wake up bright and early.

On this particular night, though, Steve is exceptionally glad he’s on night watch. When the door bursts open suddenly, just gone three in the morning with rain pelting down viciously and a bitter, winter breeze biting Steve’s ankles, Steve leaps from his chair and grabs the nearest thing to him. It turns out to be a paper plate - not a particularly solid weapon if this turns out to be a dangerous intruder - but it’s Bucky that comes brushing inside.

Steve ditches the plate, watching in a strange, fascinated horror as Bucky slams the door behind him and presses his back to it, sliding down the door slowly. His eyes are misted over with tears, trickling down his cheeks and dripping off his jaw. His hair is messy and, just visible underneath his fleece jacket, his t-shirt is torn.

 When Bucky looks up from under his straggly hair, Steve jumps into action. The look on his face is just so lost - so heartbreaking - that Steve doesn’t even _try_ to fight the urge to coddle him. Mindless of his ‘don’t overwhelm the visitors’ rule, Steve crouches in front of Bucky and envelopes him his arms.

“Steve.” Bucky sobs. It seems that as soon as he opens his mouth, he’s unable to keep his words from pouring out. “Steve, I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t— I was lost and… and all I could think of was you and—” He trails off, sobs turning into hiccups turning into soft sniffles. The kid wraps his own arms around Steve’s shoulders, his palms flat against Steve’s back, and buries his face into Steve’s neck. Even through the thick layers of his top, Steve can feel how cold Bucky is. He wonders if it would be acceptable to take Bucky’s hands between his own and blow warm air into them, just to get the blood flowing properly.

“Shh.” Steve rubs a hand over the back of Bucky’s head: a regular, comforting motion that seems to soothe the boy. “Shh. It’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe now.”

Steve keeps up this constant babble until Bucky has stopped crying, until the shudders racking his body are caused by the lingering cold instead of himself painful sobs. The kid’s body sags in Steve’s arms, all the fight gone, and Steve tightens his hold on him. Careful not to hurt him, Steve pulls Bucky up into his arms and wraps one strong arm under his thighs so that he can carry him over to the sofa nearest the door. He lays him down reverently and brushes some of the hair away from his face.

“Bucky,” Steve whispers firmly. He waits until he’s sure he has the kid’s attention before continuing. “I’m going to go and get you some dry clothes. Stay right here, and I’ll be back in just a second. Okay?”

As much as he really doesn’t want to leave the boy alone right now, he knows that he can’t allow him to stay in his freezing, wet clothes. He’ll catch a cold and while the sound of feeding soup to a grumpy, croaky Bucky does appeal to him it wouldn’t be fair to the kid. It would mean he’d either have to find somewhere to stay or suffer on the streets, and that’s not a situation Steve wants to lead Bucky into if he can help it. He waits until Bucky nods in acknowledgement before he hurries to his bedroom.

He grabs the first thing he sees out of his drawer, uncaring of whether it will be too big on Bucky as long as its soft and dry and warm. They turn out to be a fluffy pair of pyjama bottoms that Sam bought him as a joke, and a long sleeved sweater that Steve knows will swallow Bucky up. He dumps them at the foot of the sofa as soon as he returns, kneeling next to Bucky’s head and smiling warmly as the kid blinks up at him. His eyes are red rimmed and vulnerable.

“Here,” Steve starts, reaching blindly for the clothes. He doesn’t want to take his eyes of Bucky. “I got you something warm to wear. You need a hand getting them on?”

Bucky doesn’t reply; he looks almost as if the question is too much for him to compute. He shrugs off his jacket and peels the t-shirt off, dropping them in a soggy heap at his feet.

Thankfully, Steve is too concerned with the kid’s wellbeing to find his half naked state distracting, even if Bucky _does_ let out a quiet moan when he pulls the sweater over his head. It swamps him, sleeves covering his hands so that only the tips of his fingers are visible. He snuggles into it further and it slips down a little, revealing a pale, unblemished collarbone that Steve would love to suck on in any other situation.

“I think I’ve got this bit.” Bucky croaks, sounding weak but still with that familiar humour that Steve has come to associate with the kid. “But thanks.”

Steve grins in return, turning his back on Bucky and holding his hands up in surrender. He waits until he hears the rustle of sweatpants being pulled up and damp jeans being dropped onto the floor before turning around again. Bucky is, of course, absolutely adorable. The tracksuit bottoms are far too long and they pool at his feet, the fabric slipping down slightly around his slim waist. With his mussed hair and big, big eyes… he’s a dream come true.

He’s also shivering.

“Shit, here.” Steve offers, climbing onto the sofa next to him and holding an arm out. It’s a long shot and he half expects Bucky to shy away from him, but to his surprise - and delight - Bucky scoots towards him. He settles underneath Steve’s arm, head tucked against his chest; cautiously, he swings his legs over so that he can push his bare feet in between Steve’s thighs to try and warm them up.

Steve chuckles, bringing a hand to scratch lightly at Bucky’s scalp; the kid sighs happily and melts into it, so he figures it’s okay to carry on. There are so many questions Steve wants to ask: he wants to know if Bucky is okay, if he’s hiding from anyone, if he can just stay here for the foreseeable future. He can already feel the kid falling asleep against his side though, breathing evening out, and he decides that all that can wait until morning. For right now Bucky is safe andthat’s all that matters.

***

Steve is aware that watching a seventeen year old sleep in your arms may be considered creepy by some, but it really isn’t like he has anything better to do. He has to stay awake all night, he left his book and his phone over on the table and he doesn’t want to risk waking Bucky up to go and get them. Anyway, Bucky is by far the nicest thing to look at.

This is why, at just gone half six when Steve would normally be waking up, he is able to see the delicate flutter of Bucky’s eyelids. He is able to see the way Bucky’s lips part just a little and the way the crease between his eyebrows evens out as he wakes up. It’s a slow, gorgeous process and Steve feels honoured, if a little dazzled, at being able to witness it.

“Hey there.” He smiles, voice low. Bucky makes a muffled, sleepy sound before swiping the sleeve of Steve’s sweater underneath his nose; he reminds Steve of a disgruntled kitten and it’s the cutest thing he thinks he’s ever seen. There is a split second of contentment before Bucky freezes, muscles all tensing against Steve as he seems to remember everything that happened.

He sits bolt upright, panic clear in every line on his face.

“Shit.” He says. “ _Shit_!”

Steve rubs a hand up and down his back soothingly, making indistinct shushing noises that probably don’t do anything to diffuse the tension in Bucky’s shoulders. Still, he doesn’t make any attempt to leave so Steve counts that as a win.

“It’s okay.” He promises. “You’re safe now. Nobody is going to hurt you as long as you’re here.” That much is most definitely true.

“Steve, I’m so sorry.” Bucky groans, catching Steve off guard. What could Bucky possibly have to be sorry for? “I shouldn’t have… last night, I mean— I took your clothes, Jesus Christ! I’m so sorry! I’ll just leave, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with me all the time.”

“Hey, no.” Steve stops him firmly. Bucky flinches and Steve instantly feels guilty that it came out harsher than intended, but he has to get this message across. He has to make Bucky understand. “You are not a problem. You’re not something to deal with. You are— you are a beautiful person, who deserves the best. I… I _like_ taking care of you.”

He takes a deep breath. He’s not sure whether or not he just crossed a line, and if Natasha was here she would certainly cuff him round the head and chew his ear off about professionalism and power dynamics. Natasha isn’t here though: Bucky is here, and Bucky is looking at him with something akin to awe, like Steve just hung the moon right in front of his eyes.

“You like… you—” Bucky is lunging at him suddenly, lips pressed awkwardly to Steve’s lips. Their teeth clack and their noses knock together but it’s Bucky’s lips on Steve’s, electricity and passion all merged into one intoxicating cocktail that has Steve pressing back into the kiss. This is what Steve has been wanting, and it seems it’s what Bucky has been wanting as well.

Steve knows he should stop this before it goes too far; he should push Bucky away gently by the shoulders and stroke his hair and tell him that it would be wrong, and that Steve doesn’t want to take advantage. Especially after last night, when Bucky came in in the early hours of the morning sobbing. They need to talk about that, and Steve needs to be a responsible adult. He needs to be a figure of stability and safety in Bucky’s life so he can actually _help_ the kid.

But Bucky is digging slender fingers into Steve’s shoulders and pushing himself up, straddling Steve’s lap with a knee either side of his hip. He kisses desperately, unrelenting; his eyes are squeezed tightly shut and Steve doesn’t know what would happen if he pushed the kid away right now. Would Bucky see it as a rejection? Would it make him want to leave and never come back?

Besides, Steve has a lapful of a beautiful, touch starved Bucky and the last thing he wants to do is say they have to stop.

Bucky opens his mouth wetly and groans, sliding his hand around Steve’s neck. Steve lets the tip of his tongue trace delicately around Bucky’s bottom lip, testing the waters of what Bucky wants and doesn’t want. He seems to want this, because he pants and tries to deepen the kiss. This is what Steve has wanted, has been dreaming of, ever since he first met the kid. Bucky is strong willed and stubborn but he’s also kind and shy and the sweetest thing Steve has ever seen. In the few short weeks Steve has known Bucky, he already knows for a fact that the kid deserves the world.

It’s only natural then, he tries to reason, when he starts to feel his cock hardening against his leg. Bucky’s ass is planted firmly on his crotch and Steve has already slipped his tongue inside the boy’s mouth; all he can smell and taste and see and feel and hear is Bucky. His senses are completely and utterly overwhelmed by the kid and so, he tells himself, he really isn’t surprised that he’s getting turned on.

Steve knows that this is where they have to stop though. He isn’t going to go any further with Bucky now, when only last night Steve had been so sure that Bucky was in imminent danger. He especially isn’t going to go any further with Bucky on Natasha’s couch in the common area of the shelter where anybody could walk in and see them. Nat would murder him for sure.

“Bucky,” Steve tries, pulling away only for Bucky to follow his lips. A string of saliva connects their mouths, and that really shouldn’t be as hot as it is. “Bucky, kid, wait.”

Bucky finally pulls back, squinting blearily at Steve like the kiss was enough to blur his vision. He opens his mouth and Steve is prepared for him to object, to ask questions or to apologise. Of course, with Steve’s luck, this doesn’t happen. What actually happens is Bucky shifts slightly, making himself more comfortable and less likely to topple off Steve’s lap, and consequently he causes a slow, pressured drag of pleasure down Steve’s cock. He can’t stop himself from whimpering, from letting his head fall back again the back of the sofa briefly, and of course Bucky notices.

His eyes go wide and he looks down at his own crotch, which Steve can now see is slightly tented. While Steve watches, breathless and unable to stop it, Bucky shifts his hips experimentally.

“Oh.” He breathes, shivering sweetly. “Oh, you’re—”

Before Bucky can move again - because Steve is sure if he feels that mind-numbingly good pressure on his cock one more time he’s not going to have the strength to do what he needs to do - Steve places his hands on the kid’s waist. He pauses for a second to admire to sight of his fingers spanning almost all Bucky’s waist, then pauses a second more to worry that the kid is far too thin.

“Bucky, wait.” Steve pants, feeling the soft material of his boxers rub maddeningly against the head of his cock. “We should talk; we need to talk.”

Bucky looks unconvinced.

“About last night.” Steve clarifies, and Bucky frowns. He crawls out of Steve’s lap and even though that was Steve’s ultimate aim he still feels slightly disappointed. “Last night you— you looked like somebody was chasing you. Like they were going to hurt you.”

It’s not a question because he doesn’t expect Bucky to lie to him and deny it: instead he leaves it as an open statement for Bucky to elaborate on. The kid was in danger last night and if he hadn’t been able to reach the shelter in time, if the door had been locked for any reason, Steve has no idea what might have happened to him. If Bucky had died last night, Steve would have no way of ever finding out.

The thought makes his blood run cold.

“Yes.” Bucky says slowly. “But they didn’t. I’m here. You took care of me.”

“But what if next time I’m not there to take care of you? What would you do?” Steve argues. His voice is verging on desperation and he knows he’s the adult in this situation - despite what they both just did - and he has to appear to remain calm so as not to panic Bucky, but the kid has to know. Steve has to be honest about how he feels about this, because Bucky has to know how important it is. How important he is.

It takes a long time for the kid to reply, and Steve isn’t sure whether that’s because he’s struggling to think of what he would do or because he doesn’t know what Steve wants to hear. Either way, it’s hardly reassuring.

“What are you suggesting then?” He asks cautiously. “What do you want me to do?”

“Bucky, I just—” Steve starts, and then hesitates. He just what? What _does_ he want Bucky to do? Honestly, he hadn’t really thought that far ahead; other than asking Bucky to move into his room and stay in his bed 24/7 there doesn’t really seem to be a viable plan here. All Steve wants to do is keep Bucky safe, but it seems like it’s going to be a lot more difficult than he’d anticipated.

And then… an idea. Or, more accurately, the rough outlines of one. It’s ridiculous really: completely unprofessional and inappropriate, but it might just be what saves Bucky’s life one night so Steve doesn’t really care about any of that stuff. If the kid says no then Steve will back off - worried and unsatisfied though he will be - but if not then there really isn’t any downside.

“What if I got you a phone?” Steve asks, reaching out to cover one of Bucky’s hands with his own. It seems tiny in comparison, so delicate and fragile.

“What?” Bucky asks, eyes widening. “Steve, no! Why would you do that? I can’t ask you— you don’t have to… Steve!”

Well, it did rather come out of the blue so Steve doesn’t take the ‘no’ to heart: instead he powers on, hurrying to explain his idea to the kid.

“And you have to promise me that if you’re ever in danger, or if you need anything, you will call me or the police straight away. Don’t hesitate, just call. Okay? You have to promise me, Bucky.” Bucky is unconsciously squeezing Steve’s hand. A few stray strands of hair fall across his forehead and all Steve wants to do is brush them back. Since there’s nothing holding him back anymore - the kid made his interest known after all - he does.

Bucky watches his movements carefully, poised and ready to dash at any moment. Steve knows that Bucky is waiting for him to screw up, to drop the act and make some sort of move to hurt him, but this isn’t an act and the last thing Steve wants to do is hurt Bucky. He brushes his fingers gently, tenderly, through the kid’s hair, leaving his hand resting softly on the top of his head afterwards. Bucky’s eyelids flutter and his body sags; he leans into Steve’s hand like he’s been waiting years for someone to do something as simple as touch him fondly. Maybe he has. The thought makes Steve’s blood boil.

“I can’t ask you to do that, Steve.” Bucky replies finally. His voice has gone soft, perhaps a side effect of the petting. The kid is so sweet like this: dressed in soft baggy clothes, hair mussed from sleep, lips red and shiny from kissing Steve, trousers slightly tented where his cock is still half hard. He’s a dream come true.

“You didn’t ask me to.” Steve reminds him. “I asked you. I’m literally begging you to let me buy you a phone so you can contact me whenever you need to.”

Bucky giggles suddenly and brings his hand - the one that Steve isn’t rubbing circles into his with his thumb - and covers his mouth like the sound shocked him. He seems to be unable to help it, happiness radiating from him like a glow.

“I— yeah. Okay, if that’s okay with you. I mean, if you really want to. Then yeah.” Bucky nods, his voice light and happy.

“But,” Steve says in a playfully stern voice. “You have to promise, okay? Me or the police, straight away.”

Bucky nods emphatically, his eyes comically wide. He mutters the word ‘promise’ a few times until Steve squeezes his hand once in acknowledgement. That’s that matter sorted then, he supposes.

“And… Steve?” Bucky mumbles timidly, looking up at Steve from under his long lashes. “What about us? I mean, this? Is it okay?” He gestures between the two of them with a single finger as he speaks and he sounds so uncertain, so cautious like he’s anticipating a rejection, that Steve’s heart melts.

Steve chooses his words carefully. Yes, he absolutely wants to jump into something with Bucky - he’d be happy with doing whatever the kid wants him to do, truthfully - but if they are going to do anything then that decision needs to be made carefully, where everybody has all the facts.

“I’m twenty five, Bucky.” Steve says slowly, keeping his hand resting on the kid’s head so he knows it isn’t an immediate rejection. “You’re seventeen. The power imbalance is… notable.”

“I trust you, Steve.” Is Bucky’s immediate reply. He pushes himself up onto his knees and shuffles a few centimetres forward until he’s resting on Steve’s lap again. Almost without thinking Steve slides an arm around his back— purely to help the kid balance, of course.

“I trust you and I know you wouldn’t hurt me. You’d protect me.” Bucky continues imploringly.

“I would never hurt you, Bucky.” Steve agrees. “But the differences in our experience…”

“I’m a virgin!” Bucky cries suddenly, biting his bottom lip in a way that probably isn’t meant to be as arousing as it is. “I don’t _have_ any experience and I trust you and you’d take care of me. I _know_ you’d never make me do anything I don’t want to do, and I’m legal so what’s the problem?”

Yikes. Steve should not be getting a hard on right now, but he can’t erase the pictures Bucky’s words painted. The kid is a virgin, which means that Steve would get to teach him all about sex. Steve would be the first person to touch him in certain places, to teach him all about his body, and help him figure out what he likes and where he likes it…

Too late. Steve’s cock is very definitely interested now, but Steve himself isn’t finished.

“It’s not just that though Bucky.” He tries to reason with the kid. He doesn’t know why he seems to be trying so hard to talk the kid out of this when he wants it more than anything himself. “It isn’t just about sex.”

Bucky’s face flushes at the word and yep, that’s adorable.

“Then what?” He pouts.

“It’s you.” Steve tells him, and then backtracks when he realises how that sounds. “Not like that! I didn’t mean it like that! Sweetheart, you’re perfect, okay? You’re more than perfect. It’s just… I don’t know anything about you. And you never have to tell me anything you don’t want to, I never want to make you uncomfortable, but if we’re going to do this then there are a few things you have to be willing to tell me.”

There’s a pause before Bucky continues, and Steve feels abruptly anxious. What if this is it? What if this is what makes the kid realise he doesn’t actually want this at all? What if Bucky never comes back to the shelter, and it’s all Steve’s fault?

“Like what?” He asks. “What do you want to know?”

“Where do you go when you aren’t here?” Steve answers straight away. “I don’t need the address or anything, but you can only have come here because wherever else you were staying wasn’t so great. I just want to know what kind of place it is: whether you’re safe or not.”

The fact that Bucky can’t reply instantly that he is safe worries Steve more than he can say, but unless he really is prepared to ask Bucky to move in with him - to permanently live in the shelter and share his private room - then there isn’t really much he can do about it. They’ve only known each other for a few weeks and, whilst Steve would like to think they’ve created something of a bond over those weeks, it seems like that would be taking things a bit too fast.

“I’m… more safe there than I would be anywhere else.” Bucky answers finally, ignoring the way Steve’s arm tightens around him as though to say ‘what about here?’ “It’s a house, I guess. I kind of unconventional halfway house. The guy who owns it… well. Everything comes for a price, right?”

Steve frowns for a second, utterly confused as to what Bucky could be hinting at, and then he freezes. His limbs feel too heavy: a liability, and suddenly all he wants to do is pick the kid up, carry him back to Steve’s room and crawl under the covers with him. God, is Bucky implying…

“What do you mean, Bucky?” Steve asks, voice as even as he can make it.

“He’s not a bad person, really.” Bucky starts, resting his own hand on Steve’s shoulder. “The people who stay there with me are just— they’re mostly a lot older. They don’t like me very much, ‘cause they think I’m taking up space when I shouldn’t be. Pierce— the guy agreed to let me stay there but he can’t do anything about the others. If they’re pissed at me then…”

Bucky trails up, fingers automatically ghosting over the fading bruises around his left eye. They’ve faded to a mottled yellow colour, just barely visible over the pale skin; very uncharacteristically, Steve wants to hurt whoever gave them to the kid.

“Last night,” Bucky continues, and Steve listens avidly. This is more than he expected to get, so he isn’t going to make the kid regret it. “Last night, I don’t know how, but one of them figured out who I am. I don’t know, maybe they knew me before or something: I didn’t recognise them. But they told me to leave. They said if I didn’t they’d call the police— they’d call child protection, and Steve, I can’t. I can’t go back to being a state kid, I won’t. You have to trust me, okay, that going back there would be far worse.”

Steve nods, even though he’s kind of struggling to wrap his head around all of this. The people Bucky is living with are hurting him, he’s running away from someone— Steve isn’t sure why going back with child protection services would be worse than staying where he is now, but if Bucky says it would be then he can only imagine what it could be. Really though, the most important piece of that story is that Bucky said he can’t go back there.

Which means he’s homeless.

“Where are you gonna stay now, then?” Steve asks, keeping his voice clear of judgement.

Bucky shrugs, which wasn’t entirely the answer Steve was hoping for. The kid somehow manages to inch himself even closer on Steve’s lap so that they’re sharing each others’ body heat: Steve can’t help but slide a reverent hand underneath the bottom of his tracksuit pants, wrap his fingers around Bucky’s delicate ankle and feel the soft skin beneath his palm. He drags his hand up Bucky’s calf, the hair on his leg standing up when Steve makes contact with it. When he looks back at the kid on his lap, Bucky’s pupils are dilated and his mouth is hanging open slightly.

“I don’t know.” Bucky responds, licking his lips subconsciously. “I left all my stuff there - all my clothes - I can’t go back to get it now. I can never go back there.”

“What if I went?” Steve suggests, not really liking the idea but preferring it to sending the kid back there on his own. And, well, if he gets to meet the assholes that knocked Bucky around then that’s just extra incentive.

“Steve—”

“I mean, you could tell me where to go, I’d grab your stuff and come back. You never have to go back there.” Steve tells him desperately.

“Steve, no.” Steve’s heart plummets. “It’s gone. I didn’t have much; I had the important stuff in my jacket pocket.”

They both spare a glance at the crumpled heap of a jacket - and really, it hardly looks like it could survive the weather - as though to make sure it’s still there. Steve hadn’t been aware there was anything in there, and he wonders what could be small enough to fit in those pockets that could be considered ‘important stuff’.

“Just gonna keep my clothes then, huh?” Steve murmurs, attempting to lighten the mood. It works to some extent: Bucky blushes and tucks his head under Steve’s chin like he’s trying to hide his face. Steve has to say, he rather likes the idea of Bucky staying in his clothes all day everyday. He wants to keep Bucky warm and comfortable and happy and safe forever, because it’s what he deserves.

“Whatever.” Bucky’s hand slides round to the back of his neck and his fingers bury themselves in Steve’s hair. “They look better on me anyway.”

“They do.” Steve agrees amiably, and before Bucky has chance to say anything else he says, “stay here.”

“I can’t stay here forever, Steve.” Bucky replies without missing a beat. Steve is about to argue that yes, actually, he can, when Bucky continues. “But for now. If you want me to.”

There’s a question in there as well - Bucky asking whether or not Steve wants this, whatever this is, between them - and there is only one answer that Steve could honestly, truthfully give.

“I do.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Natasha emerges from her room, rubbing her eyes sleepily, Bucky’s clothes have been thrown in the washing machine. Steve has made breakfast and is just in the middle of laying everything out on the table when Bucky comes back from the shower, still in Steve’s clothes, and hesitates in the kitchen doorway.

“Hey Bucky.” Natasha smiles, cocking her head to the side. Natasha has a brilliant mind, so of course she remembers that he wasn’t here when she went to sleep.

“Steve take care of you last night? He didn’t make you listen to him talk all night did he?” She jokes, eyes sharp and knowing.

“Yeah, no, he— um.” Bucky stutters, looking between them uncertainly. Steve wants to tell him that it’s okay, he can say whatever he likes, Natasha won’t judge them. But they aren’t really anything definite yet and Steve doesn’t want to jump the gun and put a label on them that Bucky isn’t comfortable with.

“He took care of me.” Bucky says eventually, gaze settling on where Steve is filling up a jug with orange juice. They share a sweet, simple smile and Steve’s heart skips a beat.

“You hungry?” Steve directs the question at both of them, but it’s Bucky who answers. Natasha seems content to stand there and observe them.

“Actually, do you think I could, um— maybe, if it’s okay with you, could I go to your room? I’m sort of exhausted.” Bucky says, fidgeting awkwardly. Steve can tell that he really is unsure of whether or not he’ll be able to, which means that he genuinely doesn’t know that Steve would never deny him anything. Steve is pretty sure that he would give the kid anything he asked for, helpless to say no.

“Yeah, of course.” Steve grins warmly. “But, wait, take this in case you get hungry.”

He pours Bucky a glass of orange juice and shoves a croissant onto a plate hurriedly, handing them both to him. Bucky looks a little overwhelmed and simply takes both things without complaint, something Steve is thoroughly grateful for.

“You can find it on your own.” Steve assumes. At Bucky’s nod, he runs a hand heavily over Bucky’s hair. It’s still a little damp from the shower and so he tucks it behind the kid’s ear, catching a stray droplet of water as it runs down his neck. It’s as much of a romantic gesture as he can make, with Natasha right there watching. Bucky’s face lights up with a bright smile though, so he must understand the point Steve is trying to make.

As soon as the kid is gone, Nat turns on Steve. Cocking her hip against the table, she folds her arms across her chest and raises an eyebrow.

“Want to tell me about that, Steve?” She asks openly. Steve debates getting into it with her -obviously Bucky’s private information is not his to tell - and then decides against it. He wouldn’t have much to tell her at this point anyway.

“We’re just seeing how it goes. He’s going to stay here for a while.” Steve tells her, pointedly looking at the washing up bowl instead of Natasha.

“He’s seventeen.” She replies.

“We’ve talked about that. He understands, and you know I’d never hurt him.” Steve says clearly. He doesn’t want to mumble right now because he isn’t ashamed of whatever he has with Bucky, and he doesn’t want Natasha to think that he thinks he’s doing something wrong. Maybe he is. Maybe this whole thing is morally wrong, but Bucky isn’t underage and he’s mature and he was able to remind Steve of all of this when he was unsure.

There’s a pause, just long enough for Steve to worry about what Natasha is going to say next. As much as he’s willing to carry on without it, her approval does mean a lot to him and he wouldn’t feel right if he didn’t have it.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” She tells him finally. Her voice is firm but years of living so closely with Nat allow Steve to detect the undertone of fondness.

“I know.” He breathes, just as affectionate. “Thank you.”

And that’s that.

***

“You’re so beautiful,” Steve murmurs, breath catching as he admires Bucky’s shirtless body stretched out across his bed. He’s only been sleeping there for a few nights, hiding under the covers most days as well, and yet he looks completely at home. It warms Steve’s heart to know that the kid feels comfortable enough with him to be able to trust him like this— he has no intention of betraying that trust.

Which is why he has to keep his movements slow and cautionary, his actions sweet and chaste. Whilst he may want to lay Bucky out naked and worship every inch of his body with his tongue and fingers and cock until the kid is a crying, writhing mess, he can’t. His compliments, though, appear to be very much appreciated.

“Ah—” Bucky sighs lightly, his eyes closed and his arms above his head. He’s relaxed and trusting and absolutely the prettiest thing Steve has ever seen.

They’ve made out a few times over the past three or four days; it’s always initiated by Bucky and the kid often urges Steve to go further, but every time Steve has had to struggle to turn him down. It’s not that he doesn’t want to sleep with Bucky: it’s just that Steve doesn’t want Bucky to think that he has to do things like that in order to stay or keep Steve’s affection. The kid needs to know that he’s worth the praise, the wait, so that he doesn’t get hurt now or in the future.

“Steve, please.” Bucky gasps eventually, when they’re finally able to pull away from each other’s mouths. Bucky’s lips are shiny and spit-slick, and Steve hates that he has to say no.

 ———

They’re cooking together: it’s five in the morning and Bucky had woken Steve up by sitting on his lap. When it became clear that neither of them were going to be able to go back to sleep Steve suggested that he go make breakfast, and Bucky asked if he could help.

No way was Steve going to say no to that.

“Potatoes or onions?” Bucky asks, holding up one of both vegetable in either hand as he looks to Steve for guidance. Bucky claims to be spectacularly terrible at all things to do with cooking but he seems to be fine with cutting and chopping so Steve put him in charge of the chopping board whilst he watches over the rest of the omelette making process.

“Hmm.” Steve thinks out loud, eyes raking over Bucky’s skinny form. The kid’s wearing a plain, see-through white t-shirt that hangs loosely off one shoulder and a pair of Steve’s tracksuit shorts, exposing creamy white thighs and strong muscular calves that Steve wants to sink his teeth into. Despite all this, Bucky still looks like he could use some fattening up.

“Both?” He suggests, preening when Bucky’s beaming smile lights up the kitchen. They have to throw the first omelette away— they leave it abandoned for too long whilst Bucky hops onto a counter and Steve stands between his spread legs, tugging his head down with a firm hand around the neck so that their lips meet.

When Natasha walks in she lifts an eyebrow haughtily and sighs, muttering something about the, being disgustingly adorable. Clint laughs his ass off for five minutes straight, only pausing to beg Steve to make him breakfast.

———

Steve is laying in bed, completely naked. They tossed the duvet onto the floor a while ago - it kept getting in the way and generally being a nuisance - and so the man is completely exposed to Bucky, who is kneeling fully clothed over his hips.

“What do I do?” Bucky asks, voice small and inquisitive. He’s been there for just over two weeks, time flying. Steve is riding the euphoric high of having the kid safe and well fed and happy, and so this time when Bucky begged Steve to please, just keep going, he agreed.

Originally Steve had wanted to do something for Bucky - had wanted to do everything for Bucky - but the kid had been reluctant to take his clothes off despite having changed in front of Steve before. Steve wasn’t going to pry and he definitely wasn’t going to put any pressure on Bucky to do anything, so he had complied with Bucky’s request to take his own clothes off.

The thing is, Bucky is eager. He’s shy and awkward and he blushes whenever Clint makes the slightest insinuation about them, but he’s desperate to please Steve. Normally Steve wouldn’t have a problem with that, having someone as amazing as Bucky wanting desperately to make him happy, but in this case it makes him anxious. He really can’t tell whether Bucky wants to make Steve feel good because he really wants to, or because he thinks he owes him something.

“Steve!” Bucky breathes, leaning further over. He runs his hands slowly, reverently, up Steve’s stomach and up to his chest. His hands linger on Steve’s muscles, tracing the defined abs and following the dip between his ribs; Steve’s whole body twitches when Bucky’s fingers brush lightly over his nipples and his cock pulses between his legs. Bucky watches with fascinated awe, cheeks filling with colour when Steve gasps.

“Sorry,” Steve pants, chest heaving, fingers twitching with the repressed urge to reach out and touch Bucky. God, he wants him so much.

“Tell me what to do.” Bucky says, and though it isn’t phrased as a question Steve can hear it how it’s really intended. “Teach me.”

Steve can’t help but surge up and kiss the life out of Bucky at that, fucking into the kid’s mouth with his tongue. Bucky rides it out, moving with him and allowing himself to be manhandled and moulded into submission. Bucky isn’t the most advanced kisser but what he lacks in experience he makes up for in enthusiasm, letting out happy little noises whenever Steve’s tongue brushes a particular spot in his mouth.

Before long though Bucky is pushing Steve down by his chest and repositioning himself, knees oneither side of Steve’s hips and palms flat against the bed on either side of Steve’s head. His hair tumbles forward, framing his face like a halo. Their faces are so close together that it tickles Steve’s nose.

“Lick your hand.” Steve instructs breathlessly. He feels like someone has punched the air out of his lungs— Bucky is about to touch him. Oh God.

The feeling only intensifies when he sees Bucky following his instructions, dragging his tongue over his palm until it’s shiny and glistening in the low light of Steve’s bedroom. Steve lets out a low groan and can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut for a second, breathing through his nose to try and get himself under control.

“That’s good, sweetheart, just like that.” Bucky blushes at the praise, and that’s something Steve will investigate further later on. “Now just wrap your hand around— _yeah_ , just like that, _fuck_.”

“Steve,” Bucky murmurs, eyes glued to his hand wrapped around Steve’s cock. “What now?”

It really shouldn’t turn Steve on the way it does, the fact that Bucky wants to be told what to do. Then again, lots of things about this kid shouldn’t turn Steve on in the way that they do, so he doesn’t worry about it too much.

“Just stroke, baby. Like you’d touch yourself. You’re doing so well, Bucky, you’re so good.” Steve keeps up a constant stream of nonsense, seemingly unable to shut his mouth. Bucky makes a quiet, whimpering noise and tightens his grip around Steve’s cock, stroking him once from root to tip so he must like it.

“Keep your fist tight.” Steve says, hissing through his teeth as Bucky complies instantly. Realistically it shouldn’t feel any better than any other handjob Steve has gotten but for some reason Steve can’t identify, it feels so much better. Bucky’s hand is so soft and wet and the drag of friction over his hard cock as indescribably wonderful.

Unexpectedly, Bucky’s other hand begins to slide up Steve’s chest, mapping out his muscles before settling over one of his pecs. His thumb brushes Steve’s nipple and combined with the pressure around his dick it makes his hips jerk forward. A drop of precum gathers at the tip of his cock and slides down his shaft; when it reaches Bucky’s fingers, the kid stills his hand and stares at it in fascination. He seems to be debating with himself but before Steve can ask him if he’s alright, he’s letting go of Steve’s cock…

…And then sucking his his fingers into his mouth.

“Nnnhg, _fuck_.” Steve’s brain supplies helpfully as he watches Bucky’s long, slender fingers disappear between his puffy pink lips. When he tastes the bitter precum his nose scrunches up adorably but he doesn’t remove his fingers until they’ve been licked clean.

Then he’s wrapping his hand around Steve again, slick with saliva, and pumping him faster than before. Bucky’s face is flushed pink and he’s biting his bottom lip in concentration as he works Steve, squeezing a little more tightly on the upstroke and rubbing his fingertips around a spot just under the head that drives Steve crazy.

Steve’s orgasm creeps up on him unexpectedly, and before he knows it he can feel the familiar tug in his belly.

“Bucky,” he gasps, trying desperately to pull the kid down to him. “I’m gonna— fuck, I’m gonna come.”

“Yeah?” Bucky breathes headily, leaning down to lick his way into Steve’s mouth. Steve has no idea if Bucky is as turned on as he is but he can’t help but devour the kid’s mouth, pouring everything he has into the kiss. Bucky moans and takes and takes until Steve’s balls tighten and the first rush of orgasm crashes over him. His eyes close and his head falls back on the pillow, mouth hanging open in a silent scream as his come coats Bucky’s hand.

Before he can even gather his wits - and remember his name - Bucky is there kissing him: small, sweet kisses on his lips and nose and face that make Steve smile.

“Um, what should I do with— uh…” with a start, Steve realises Bucky is talking about his come covered hand. A small part of him (a large part of him) wants Bucky to once again lick his hand clean. He wants to feed Bucky his come until the kid is desperate for it, but he has no idea if that’s something Bucky would be into. He doesn’t even think Bucky has any idea if that’s something Bucky would be into.

“Here,” he offers the kid his boxers and watches as he wipes his hands off on them, tossing them to the floor when he’s done. “What about you? Can I…”

Steve’s hand moves slowly, carefully, to the button of Bucky’s jeans. He looks at him with a question in his eyes, which is answered when Bucky places a hand over Steve’s and moves it downwards so its cupping Bucky’s cock through the trousers.

That’s okay. If Bucky doesn’t want to take his clothes off then he’s under absolutely no obligation to do so. Steve can still get him off through his clothes, even if it does mean they’ll have to be washed early.

“Was I okay?” Bucky asks in a small voice as Steve begins to stroke the outline of his dick through the thin denim. Steve’s other hand moves to the back of Bucky’s head, fingers digging into the hair there and cradling his face.

“You were perfect.” He replies honestly, tipping Bucky’s head to the side so he can suck bruises into his neck. Bucky moans so prettily when Steve latches onto a particular spot under his ear, so Steve rubs his tongue over it and grazes it with his teeth. He can feel Bucky’s cock jump through his jeans in response.

“You were so good, my good boy.” Steve continues, losing track of what he’s saying. “So perfect. You’re so pretty like this— prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Bucky whines, high pitched, at the back of his throat and grabs Steve’s shoulder. His nails dig into the bare skin there.

“Steve, I’m gonna—”

_Fuck yes._

“That’s it sweetheart.” Steve encourages, increasing the speed and the pressure of his movements. “Let go, c’mon. Come.”

Bucky does, panting and mouth slack, until Steve can feel Bucky’s come soaking through the front of his jeans. He knocks their foreheads together; they’re so close that they’re breathing the same air and Steve is sure he has never felt closer to another person.

“Fuck.” Bucky says between breaths.

“Yeah.” Steve agrees.

***

Bucky is sitting in in Steve’s bed, hunched over Steve’s tablet with Steve’s duvet wrapped around his shoulders. It’s admittedly hard for the man not to feel slightly possessive when everything Bucky touches is Steve’s, but the main thing is that as long as he is in here, he isn’t out there in the unknown, possibly in danger.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Steve says softly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder so as not to startle him. The kid has headphones in - he’s started watching various TV shows that he claims he’s missed out on over the years - and so he’s rarely anywhere else than Steve’s bedroom. It’s a single bed but Bucky tends to sleep on Steve’s chest so they make it work without toppling to the floor.

“Hey,” Bucky beams up at him, and under that gaze it’s hard not to feel like the most important person in the world. “Where are they at?”

“Gah.” Steve groans, collapsing next to Bucky for a brief moment. “Dishwashers broken so I’m on wash up. Nat’s on night watch though, so I’ll be back before you’re asleep.”

“Mmm, good.” Bucky hums, pulling his headphones out and leaning forward for a kiss. What’s means to be a quick kiss turns into a lazy, sloppy kiss. Bucky’s tongue slides against Steve’s and when they pull away they are both half hard and panting.

But there is actually a reason Steve came here, and it isn’t to make out with Bucky— although that is definitely a perk.

“I got you something.” Steve tells him, digging into his pocket to retrieve the slightly worn iPhone he had bought Bucky the previous evening. He had wanted to buy a brand new one but they were just too expensive, and he figured as long as Bucky would be able to make calls on it then that’s what matters.

Bucky looks down at it and then back up at Steve. He’s breathing very quickly and then, to Steve’s horror, the kid’s eyes start filling with tears.

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Steve panics, cupping Bucky’s face in his hands. With a thumb he brushes away a tear that spilled over and makes soothing noises whilst Bucky just sits and stares.

 You— I… Steve, are you sure?” Bucky sniffles, and Steve would probably find it sad if he didn’t hiccup in the middle of it. “I mean, this is— you can take it back if you want.”

 It’s yours.” Steve promises, and he doesn’t say that he would promise Bucky the world if he asked for it.

———

Bucky is naked save from a pair of boxers, sitting with his back against the headboard and his knees bent. Steve, also just in his underwear, runs a hand up and down the kid’s calve, mesmerised by the feeling of silky soft hairs and smooth skin. Before he can stop himself he’s leaning down and pressing an open mouthed kiss to the skin of Bucky’s leg. His tongue drags back and forth over the skin until the muscle in Bucky’s leg is twitching, and only then does Steve move. He kisses his way up Bucky’s calve and over his inner thigh, sucking pretty bruises into him until the kid is gasping.

Bucky making the decision to take his clothes off is one of monumental importance for Steve. The kid is so insecure of his body, so terrified that Steve won’t find him attractive, that he lets his fear control his mind. Steve can’t think of any way to tell him that he fell in love with his mind, not his body, that doesn’t involve the word ‘love’.

Of course, that would involve admitting it to himself first and Steve isn’t sure he’s ready to admit he’s in love with a homeless seventeen year old boy.

“Steve,” Bucky whimpers, fingers curling and uncurling as he blinks rapidly. He looks rather like a baby bird— fragile, uncertain, delicate. Steve has yet to see Bucky’s cock but he already knows it isn’t going to disappoint.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart.” Steve promises. “You just tell me what you want me to do, okay?”

Bucky’s skin tastes like salt and sweat, heady and addictive, and Steve leaves his marks all over Bucky’s stomach. He doesn’t have much fat - living on the streets will do that to a person, Steve supposes - but his stomach isn’t concave either. It holds some of the roundness of youth but underneath is hard, the promise of solid muscle that he will no doubt grow into.

When Steve takes Bucky’s nipple into his mouth Bucky cries out - high pitched and needy - and pushes Steve’s head further down as though to grasp onto the sensation. It hardens in his mouth and he suckles on it tenderly, grazing it with his teeth every so often until the kid is a mewling, desperate mess beneath him.

They’re both hard: Bucky’s cock is pressing needily against his boxers, a spot of precome darkening the fabric already. Steve presses his hand to it, swallowing the sounds Bucky makes greedily— he circles the tip with his thumb with just enough pressure for another bead of precome to drool from it.

“You want me to suck your cock, baby?” Steve asks, voice pitched high at the end as though he’s asking a regular question.

Bucky groans and his whole body jerks. His cock jumps visibly in his underwear and he gasps out, “yes.” Bucky driven to desperation is not, Steve decides, a sight he should take for granted. The kid makes a fucking gorgeous picture: overwhelmed with sensation, skin unmarked and glistening with a slight sheen of sweat, writhing on Steve’s bed. The image of this will be burnt into Steve’s memory for years to come.

“Yes what?” Steve teases him, curling his fingers into the waistband of Bucky’s boxers but not yet pulling them down. He wants Bucky’s explicit permission before he does that, knowing that if he makes the kid uncomfortable he will never forgive himself.

“Please.” Bucky whines. Steve takes that as his permission.

He starts by pulling Bucky’s cock out of his underwear gently, careful to ease the boxers down his thighs and pull them off without damaging them. Steve thinks this pair might actually be his, as he dumps them in a heap on the floor, because the kid didn’t want to go back for the rest of his stuff and he hasn’t let Steve take him shopping yet.

Bucky has a beautiful cock: this is the first time Steve has actually seen it without the restrictive barrier of clothing between them and he stares unashamedly. It’s a little above average size, curling prettily to the right to rest against the kid’s belly. The tip is flushed red and sticky with precome, a thin drop beading at the tip and rolling down the shaft as Steve takes it in his hand. Bucky moans at the contact, and Steve realises this must be the first time another person has put their hand on Bucky’s dick.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes heavily, even though Bucky’s the one who’s being touched. Steve feels something so primal, so heady, take over in that second. He’s going to take care of Bucky because the boy is so soft and warm when Steve holds him in his arms, and he’s so pretty when he comes, and Steve never wants to let him go.

Giving Bucky’s cock a few strokes just to feel it grow harder in his hand, he opens his mouth and goes down on the kid without a warning. Bucky howls, surprised, and his hands grasp the bed sheets so tightly that his knuckles go white.

Steve has been with his fair share of guys in his lifetime, so he’s had plenty of chance to practise and perfect his motions. He begins a steady pace, bobbing his head up and down and taking Bucky’s cock further into his mouth each time. When the head of his cock reaches Steve’s throat he swallows, struggles to relax his throat muscles, and then pushes down until Bucky’s cock is slipping into his throat.

“Holy shit.” Bucky groans, and when Steve glances up at him from under his eyelashes the kid’s eyes are squeezed shut. His cheeks are flushed and sweat is sticking stray strands of hair to his forehead.

Steve can imagine how this must feel for Bucky: the soft wetness of Steve’s tongue against the sensitive skin of his shaft, the contraction of Steve’s muscles as he swallows around the head. He knows, what with this being Bucky’s first time and Steve’s not-too-shabby oral sex skills, that the kid is going to come soon.

Bucky cries out softly when Steve starts stroking his balls, rolling them in his palm as his nose touches Bucky’s stomach, as though his voice has deserted him. Steve likes that, he realises, likes the thought of Bucky losing his voice over him.

“Steve,” he whispers, fingers twitching weakly like all the energy has been drained out of him. “Steve, I’m gonna come.”

Steve hums in acknowledgement, enjoying the way Bucky’s whole body shudders as the tremors vibrate along his dick.

“Steve,” He says again, urgently this time.

To comfort him, Steve rubs his free hand soothingly up and down Bucky’s bare thigh, nail scraping the skin gently. Bucky cries out once, twice, before his hips jerk involuntarily and he’s coming in hot spurts down Steve’s throat. Steve holds him through it, keeping the kid’s softening cock between his lips until he’s sure Bucky is finished, and then crawling up over his body to kiss his lips softly.

Steve is still hard, his cock throbbing insistently between his legs, but he isn’t going to ask Bucky to do anything. The kid looks spent, head thrown to the side, eyes flickering behind his eyelids, chest rising and falling as he struggles to catch his breath.

Instead he kisses Bucky once more, this time on the forehead, and pushes his hair away from his face.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart.” He murmurs, tugging the covers over them both and wrapping an arm around Bucky’s waist. He’s asleep within minutes.

———

Steve should have known something would go wrong. Things have been so perfect for weeks now: Bucky has been happy, Steve has been happy and they’ve both been living in their little bubble - disguised as the shelter - where everything was great.

It’s typical, then, that when things do go wrong it’s outside in the big bad world.

Steve has only just managed to persuade Bucky to go out with him. He’s been meaning to do it for weeks— Bucky needs more clothes since he only has one of everything, and so he’s been wearing Steve’s clothes whenever his own are in the wash. Steve doesn’t mind this of course, in fact he rather enjoys the idea that Bucky is surrounded by him, but he had thought that the kid might want some independence from him.

“Happy now?” Bucky asks, smiling dopily up at him as he swings a shopping bag backwards and forwards by the handles. In it is about five different t-shirts, three new pairs of jeans, two new jackets and a dozen pairs of underwear and socks.

“Oh, absolutely.” Steve nods, squeezing Bucky’s hand where it’s clasped in his. “Just need to get you some shoes now, and I’ll be swell.”

“Swell.” Bucky mocks him, wrinkling his nose up in a way that is far too cute to be judgemental. “Is that even a word anymore?”

Steve is about to reply when a voice from behind them makes Bucky freeze.

“James?”

Bucky’s face goes slack whilst the rest of his body tenses up. His hand jerks, fingers almost crushing Steve’s for a second, before he pulls his whole arm away. They both turn around, Steve curious whereas Bucky is anticipatory. There’s a man jogging towards them; he’s tall with thick brown hair mussed from the wind. When he gets closer, a nasty sneer spreads across his face.

“James?” He repeats. “It is you, thought I recognised you.”

James? What the fuck? Steve thinks, blinking stupidly. Has ‘Bucky’ been a fake name all along? Who is this guy?

“What do you want?” Bucky asks, spine rigid. His shoulders are squared like he’s trying to prove that he’s not afraid, but Steve notices the slight tremble in his fingers and the way his eyes dart about as though searching for an escape route. He’s thinking about running, Steve realises, and the thought makes him want to throw up. He can’t lose Bucky before he ever really had him.

“We were wondering where you fucked off to.” The man continues, unaware or perhaps uncaring of Steve’s plight. “Got yourself a sugar daddy, I see. You always did have the ass for it.”

“Hey,” Steve growls, temper flaring. He steps forward, ready to lay into this guy, but Bucky turns on him fiercely.

“Don’t.” He says. It’s just one word, but it’s said so angrily that it floors Steve. He’s so taken aback that, at first, that he doesn’t react when Bucky walks stiffly over to the stranger and grabs his arm, yanking him over to the side.

 He drops the shopping bag at Steve’s feet. For some reason it feels like a betrayal.

Steve watches as Bucky hisses something at him, eyes bright with repressed fury. The stranger snorts, jerks his head at Steve and sneers at Bucky. The urge to get closer and hear what they’re saying, to stand in front of Bucky and protect him from the world, is almost overwhelming but Steve can do nothing but stand there and watch as they argue, unable to hear anything they’re saying.

Suddenly the stranger’s hand darts out and he grabs Bucky’s forearm, stepping entirely too close for Steve’s liking. Bucky rears back, part surprise and part fear, and that’s when Steve interferes.

“Hey,” he attempts to be menacing, pushing the man away by placing his palm flat on the guy’s chest. He stumbles blues back a few steps, narrowing his eyes as he looks between Steve and Bucky.

“Back away.” Steve tells him, voice steely.

For a second, he doesn’t think the man is going to listen. It looks like he’s going to charge at them and Steve is internally preparing for a fight when, thankfully, the guy’s shoulders sag and he shrugs.

“Whatever. See you round, James.” His voice is sickeningly sweet.

The walk back to the shelter is silent and tense. Bucky seems lost in thought; there is a furrow between his eyebrows that Steve wants to smooth out but the kid’s jaw is also clenched and he looks… furious. By the time they reach the shelter Steve has no idea what to say— he only knows that he has a lot of questions and that he’s starting to get a little annoyed himself.

“You know, I—” Steve starts, not entirely sure of what he’s about to say. Bucky interrupts him.

“I told you not to get involved.” He says through gritted teeth. This isn’t really true, actually, because all Bucky said was ‘don’t’, but apparently that isn’t the point.

“So what, was I supposed to just stand there and watch him hassle you?” Steve retorts, hiding his hurt with a layer of anger. Bucky whirls around, pushing the shelter doors open violently. Natasha and about four guests look up in surprise, eyebrows lifting when they see Bucky storming inside with Steve hot on his heels.

“You were supposed to leave it alone.” Bucky tells him, never raising his voice. Steve flushes, ignoring Nat’ questioning gaze and following the kid to the bedroom. “I had it under control.”

“Really, Bucky?” Steve snorts. “Or should I call you James?”

“My name is Bucky.” He growls, flinging his shopping bags carelessly onto the bed and then standing with his back to the wall, arms wrapped around his waist. Everything about his posture reminds Steve of the first night Bucky came back and how uncomfortable he was. It should make Steve kinder.

Instead it makes him crueller and he pushes forward, spurred on by the memory of Bucky’s indifferent ‘don’t.’

“Well whilst we’re at it is there anything else you want to tell me? I mean, I deserve to know don’t you think.” Steve bites out.

“Know what?” Bucky cries, throwing his arms up helplessly. “What are you talking about? All I asked was that you left it alone and you didn’t! What do you want to know?”

He sounds exasperated and for some reason it makes Steve madder.

“Everything!” He yells, taking a step forward and missing how Bucky flinches at his actions. “You! I mean if you’ve been lying about your name this whole time, what else have you been lying about?”

“My name is Bucky.” Bucky says, although his voice is weaker now. It sounds like he’s on the verge of tears, and he’s struggling to keep eye contact with Steve.

“Well how should I know, huh? How do I know you’re telling the truth? How do I even know I can trust you?”

The room falls eerily silent and one look at Bucky’s face makes Steve regret everything he just said. The kid’s eyes are wide and wet, moisture gathering in the corners and making them glisten in the light. He looks as though it would have been less damaging if Steve had slapped him. Right now the only person Steve wants to hit is himself.

“Bucky—” he reaches out but Bucky shakes his head, effectively ending Steve’s apology before he could even start it.

“You clearly don’t, if you have to ask that question.” He says, and his voice is carefully monotone. “I’m gonna sleep in one of the visitor rooms tonight.”

He’s gone I’m a blur or motion, the door closed behind him before Steve can object.

It’s okay, Steve tells himself. He’ll wait until morning for Bucky to cool off and then he’ll apologise. He’ll explain that he was hurt and lashing out, and that it’s not an excuse but that he doesn’t mean any of the horrible things he said. It’ll be fine.

It’ll be fine.

The next morning Bucky is gone. The phone Steve bought him is placed on the nightstand next to Steve’s head.

***

In the aftermath of their argument and Bucky’s subsequent disappearance, Natasha is sympathetic with a side order of judgemental. That’s one of the things Steve has always loved about his best friend: she knows how to offer support but she won’t lie to you. In this case, she has no problem telling Steve that he fucked up, but she isn’t about to abandon him to wallow in his own misery.

It would be better, Steve thinks, if Bucky had taken anything with him. Spare clothes, money, or perhaps the fucking phone that Steve bought specifically for this purpose. What if the kid gets into trouble out there? Steve would have no way of knowing if he was in danger, and if anything did happen Steve wouldn’t know. Nobody would know to contact him, and if Bucky didn’t want to - or, God forbid, was unable to - Steve would just carry on his day to day life not knowing what happened to Bucky.

The thought is unbearable and yet, somehow, weeks pass without Steve having a breakdown.

Clint is sympathetic in his own way as well, offering to stay with Steve on night watch, which he assigned himself almost nightly in case Bucky came back. Clint has never done well with the whole ‘comfort’ thing, for which Steve is mostly grateful, and so to help him out Clint stuck to making coffee and patting him on the back at irregular intervals.

All in all, it’s pretty awful.

Tony shows up one night after Steve turns down an eating competition with Peter Parker. He stays overnight on weekends sometimes because he’s Aunt has to work night shifts and he says he doesn’t like being in the apartment alone since his Uncle passed away. He’s a good kid, and yet Steve can’t find the energy to want to hang out with him.

“What do you say the next donation goes towards an indoor swimming pool, hmm?” Tony muses, hovering at the end of Steve’s bed like he owns the place. To be fair, he sort of does, but that’s beside the point.

“Let’s stick to the basics for now, but thanks Tony.” Steve replies, ignoring the obvious hint of humour underlying in his words. He can’t be bothered to deal with humour right now. Steve wants to wallow.

“Really? What about a strip club? I think the kids would really appreciate a strip club.” Here, Steve raises an eyebrow. You can never be sure when Tony is joking and Steve doesn’t trust him not to follow through on this offer.

“Did Natasha send you?” Steve inquires miserably.

“No! Of course not!” Tony presses his hand to his chest and looks suitably scandalised. “Natasha sent Pepper. Pepper sent me. She said you’ve been mooning over some kid.”

“His name is Bucky.” Steve snaps irritably. “And he’s not just some kid.”

“What is he then, your soulmate?” Tony scoffs. “Come on. What’s the big deal, Rogers, what’s got your panties in a twist?”

Isn’t that the million dollar question? Other than Bucky being in possible danger, why is Steve so hung up about him leaving? He’s had relationships in the past that lasted far longer than the few weeks Steve and Bucky were together - has had some that lasted several years - and he can’t remember being so upset when they ended. Is he in love with Bucky? Is that what this is?

“He said he couldn’t go back to where he was staying before.” Steve answers glumly instead of voicing any of that to Tony. “What if I was a complete asshole to him and he had no other choice but to go back there? What if I put him in danger?”

“Slow down there, soldier.” Tony sits down heavily on the end of Steve’s bed, huffing out a sigh. “Bucky’s— what, seventeen? He’s old enough to make his own decisions. Yes, he’s in a horrible situation right now but if he needs to get somewhere safe then he knows he can come here. If he chooses not to then… that’s his choice.”

Steve huffs and grabs a pillow, squashing it frustratedly against his chest as he digests Tony’s words. They make a lot of sense; Bucky knows that this is a safe place despite what happened. It’s up to him whether he comes here or not.

“You know I’m right.” Tony prompts him, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.

“I know you’re right,” Steve concedes. “But it doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Yeah well, making you feel better isn’t in my job description.”

“What exactly is your job again?” Steve asks, because he knows it pisses Tony off. He chuckles when Tony flips him off as he leaves the room, but he can’t shake the feeling that everything has gone wrong and it’s all his fault.

***

The phone has been ringing for approximately thirty seconds when Steve notices it. He looks up from his spot at the sink - they still haven’t gotten a replacement dishwasher - at his own phone which lies on the counter a few feet away, screen black.

“Nat!” He calls, raising his voice to be heard above the din of the common room. It’s busy tonight, getting closer to Christmas and therefore getting colder. Everybody wants a warm bed off the streets where there’s no chance of them freezing to death before morning.

“What?” She calls back, audibly irate.

“Is that yours?” He yells, cringing at the volume of his own voice and feeling the need to clarify. “The phone?”

“No! Try Clint.”

Steve grumbles, shaking his hands out and drying them quickly on his t-shirt before sticking his head in the staff kitchen. Clint looks up in alarm, hand paused half way to his mouth with a half eaten chocolate bar.

“Um.” He says, crumbs spraying from his mouth as he speaks. Steve shuts the door on him without saying anything.

Really, he should think nothing more of it. It could be any one of the guests’ phone ringing— there are a lot of people staying, and Steve has no reason to think it’s anything else. Still, there’s something nagging at him, a feeling he can’t shake. He hesitates for a split second only before jogging towards his bedroom, paranoid that whoever it is will ring off before he gets there.

He flings the door open, scanning the room for his bedside table where the phone hasn’t moved since Bucky left.

It’s ringing. As far as Steve knows, there are only two people who know the number to that phone: Steve and Bucky.

Steve lurches forward, grabbing desperately for the phone and swiping right immediately so that the phone lights up. The caller is unknown but Steve knows who it’s going to be, can sense it somehow.

“Bucky?” He gasps as soon as the call connects. There’s rustling on the other end of the line and an echoey noise, like somebody is moving around a lot on the other end of the line. Then a shaky exhale and a trembling voice that Steve has missed so much. It’s been almost a month since Steve has seen or heard from Bucky; hearing his voice is calming. At least now Steve knows he’s alive.

“Steve?” Bucky asks in a small voice, sounding tinny and faraway. He doesn’t give Steve a chance to talk. “I’m calling from a phone booth. I’m about ten blocks from you. I’m sorry, I didn’t know who else to call.”

It reminds Steve of the night Bucky burst into the shelter, trembling and crying that he hadn’t known what else to do. The only differences are that now Bucky’s voice sounds reasonably more steady, and this time Steve can’t bundle him up in warm blankets and hold him in his arms. Steve feels a pang in his chest, sharp pain like a knife to the ribs.

 “Do you need help?”

“Ha.” Bucky’s laugh is superficial and breathy and so, so beautiful. “Sort of an existential question, don’t you think?”

There’s a lump in Steve’s throat that he can’t seem to dislodge; he laughs because if he doesn’t laugh then he’s going to cry, and he isn’t going to waste time apologising for that when it’s the first time he’s spoken to Bucky in almost a month.

“Stay where you are.” He says instead. “I’m going to come and get you. If that’s alright with you.”

If Bucky tells him not to go, he won’t go. He’ll try and persuade Bucky to stay at the shelter but he won’t directly go against the kid’s wishes. God, does he hope Bucky will say yes though.

There’s a pause then. The only sign that Bucky is still there is the hesitant breathing, faint like he’s trying not to make too much noise.

Then, “Ten blocks. The phone booth opposite opposite the pharmacist. I’ll wait for you.”

***

Steve sends Tony a text asking for a car. He pulls on a jacket - remembering to stuff Bucky’s phone in his pocket as well as his own, in case the kid calls again - and tells Natasha he’s going out. By the time he’s closing the door behind him there is already a sleek black car waiting for him, engine purring expectantly.

He could probably have walked it in twenty minutes but on the off chance that anything was wrong, Steve would rather get there in five. Bucky could be in danger, could be being chased. He didn’t sound anxious or scared on the phone, but even so he could be cold or hungry or hurt. Steve isn’t going to waste a second. He isn’t going to screw up this time.

It’s exactly four minutes and thirty-two seconds when the car pulls up outside the pharmacist, the driver sitting stiffly in the drivers seat as Steve thanks him. It’s easy to spot Bucky— it’s pretty late and there are only a few stragglers left walking the street at this time of night. He’s sitting with his feet hanging off the sidewalk, hunched over his knees. He stands when he notices Steve hovering on the other side of the street, and wipes his hands on his jeans. The protective instinct in Steve can’t help but notice how thin they are, and how inappropriate they are for the cold weather. The kid must be freezing.

“Hey,” Bucky calls out when he’s close enough to be heard, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he reaches Steve. He’s still half a head shorter and he has to look up at Steve.

“Hi,” Steve replies. They stand there, both of them seemingly unsure of what to do or who should make the first move when Steve breaks.

“Fuck, Bucky.” He breathes, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around the kid’s back. One hand cradles the back of his head whilst the other holds Bucky’s waist firmly. They stay there, Steve letting Bucky absorb his body heat.

“I’m sorry.” He’s blabbering, words coming out in an endless stream of nonsense as though he’s trying to make up for the three weeks of no contact. “I’m sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean it— fuck, I didn’t want you to leave.”

“I know.” Bucky whimpers, face pressed into Steve’s chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Looks like we gotta lot to talk about, huh?” Steve laughs through a sob, looking down at Bucky but not taking the hand away from the back of his head. Right now it feels like he’s holding the world in his arms.

“Looks like it.” Bucky agrees, and there’s an admission in there. An apology: for leaving, perhaps, but not for keeping secrets. Bucky is the only one with the right to his past.

“We can do that back at the shelter, though?” Steve checks, praying that Bucky will say yes. If Bucky comes back with him now then that’s it: he knows they have a chance to talk and work things out. If Bucky just says yes, Steve swears that he will love him every day as fiercely as he does now.

“Yeah.” Bucky replies, looking up at Steve with stars in his eyes. “Let’s go home.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series, more will be coming soon. If you’re interested in reading any further instalments, subscribe to the series! Also let me know what sort of things you’d like to see in the next fic!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


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